


A Fool's Hope

by TheLadyZephyr



Series: The Twice Told Tale of Thorin Oakenshield [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Fluff, M/M, Plot, Slow Burn, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-22 17:24:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3737272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyZephyr/pseuds/TheLadyZephyr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There never was much hope that they would all survive the attempt to take back the mountain, but for Fíli’s grin and Kíli’s laugh he would seize whatever chance fate had given him.</p><p>Thorin Oakenshield did not believe in miracles, yet for once he would allow himself to hope.</p><p>Even if, after all was said and done, it was just a fool’s hope.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Thorin wakes up after the Battle of Five Armies the day the company is due to meet their new burglar in Hobbiton. Somehow he must use his knowledge to change their fate, yet secrets and subtlety are not exactly one of his strengths. Thankfully, as always, he has Bilbo Baggins to cover his shortcomings.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

His vision swam and his breath rasped in his throat. Thorin, son of Thrain stood atop the frozen river, looking down on the battlefield at the foot of the Lonely Mountain. With a low rumble an eagle swooped past him, great wings beating the air. The beast gave a resonating cry, and Thorin felt a great weight leave his shoulders; the pale orc was dead, and his people had triumphed.

The cold of the river seemed to be stealing into his limbs, and his legs collapsed beneath him. 

_Fíli,_ he thought, _Kíli… I have failed them…_

A series of quick, light footsteps sounded behind him, and the halfling’s anxious face entered his vision. 

“Bilbo…” he choked out urgently, fighting against the ice spreading though his chest. 

“No! Don’t move! Don’t move! Lie still,” the hobbit replied, small hands fluttering over the wound on Thorin’s chest. 

_I must make amends,_ he thought as Bilbo let out a muffled groan.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, “I wish to part from you in friendship.”

“No, you are not going anywhere, Thorin,” said Bilbo, shaking his head. “You are going to live.”

“I would take back my words and my deeds at the gate,” desperation entered the dwarven king’s tone. “You did what only a true friend would do… forgive me?”

Bilbo shook his head slightly in denial.

“I was too blind to see,” Thorin murmured, a small smile playing around the edges of his mouth.

“I- I am so sorry… that I have led you into such peril.” It was becoming more and more difficult to breathe. 

Bilbo gripped his hand tightly. “No, n- I am glad to have shared in your perils, Thorin. Each and every one of them. It is far more than any Baggins deserves.”

 _I do not deserve a friend such as you,_ the dwarf looked up at the hobbit in wonder, cold black creeping in the edges of his vision.

“Farewell, Master Burglar,” the king said fondly, a smile on his lips. “Go back to your books, and your armchair.” The thought of the halfling living in quiet happiness in his cosy hobbit hole was a warm light against the chill. 

“Plant your trees… watch them grow… If more people valued home above gold, this world would be a merry place.”

“No! No, no, no, no! Thorin! No, don’t you dare!” Bilbo chanted as the dwarf’s breath hitched, and stilled.

And so, with a heart full of sunlight filtering through green leaves, Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, passed from Middle Earth in the arms of his friend.

  


***

  


Thorin drifted in warm, peaceful darkness, lulled by the smell of clean stone. 

“Thorin…” a voice whispered, tight with grief.

 _What was...?_ The thought was sluggish, rising slowly from the gentle heat. 

A deep drum sounded, bringing with it a blast of frigid wind, and a flash of a familiar face, twisted in fear.

_Fíli!_

The drum boomed once more, the icy flash showing pale claws holding his nephew aloft.

_No!_

Thorin fought the cloying heat, twisting in the darkness.

“Run!!” Fíli cried, and as the prince’s body fell, Thorin felt the cold lance through him and rip him asunder.

Fire burned, smoke smothering him.

_Kíli!_

Flash; Kíli ran up the snow covered steps… 

Flash; Azog leapt into Thorin’s path with a bestial roar…

Flash; A she-elf’s cry of despair carried over the sounds of battle, and Thorin knew.

_Kíli…_

He clawed at the heat suffocating him.

“You would steal from me?” A memory of golden music singing sickly sweet.

“Throw him from the rampart!” Fearful eyes stared up at him, fragile skin bruising beneath his fingers.

_No…_

_No!!!_

“Bilbo!!!” Thorin heaved himself up, blankets falling back and sweat soaking his skin.

Disoriented, he stumbled from the low bed, blinking rapidly to try and clear his vision. Golden morning light shone through round little windows, and smooth wooden floor boards creaked beneath his feet. _Where in Middle Earth..?_

Memories clouded his mind; Fíli and Kíli on Ravenhill, Bilbo at the gate to the mountain… the eagles wheeling over the Lonely Mountain while the halfling gripped his hand. 

_I… died?_

Fumbling frantically, he clawed at his collar, pulling down the shirt to find clean, undamaged skin. Shaking, he staggered to the window, scrabbling with the latch and throwing it open. Smooth, meandering dirt roads wound between quaint, half buried little houses, and a well-wrought sign bordered in ornate ropework proclaimed ‘The Tighfield Traveller.’

“The Shire!” he muttered in disbelief. 

“Master Oakenshield?” a voice asked from outside his room, tapping lightly at the door.

He crossed the room and opened the door to reveal the portly little innkeeper, clutching a piece of parchment in his hand.

“Sorry to disturb you so early, Master Dwarf, but I’ve received a message for you; from a ‘Gandalf the Grey’ sir,” the cheerful man bobbed his head and held out the parchment, marked with Thorin’s name.

Thorin stared at the halfling, frozen still.

“Ah… Master Oakenshield..?” The hobbit fidgeted under the dwarf’s intense gaze.

Thorin took the paper mechanically, turning to sit on the side of the bed.

“I’ll… just leave you be then, good sir,” the innkeeper backed out slowly, closing the door behind him.

Thorin broke Gandalf’s seal and opened the parchment, his heart thudding unnaturally loud in his ears. He knew exactly what the missive would read. He had gotten the exact same note all those many months ago, travelling from the meeting of his kin in Ered Luin to meet with his company, and their prospective burglar, in Hobbiton. 

“It’s not possible,” he whispered, leaning over to take his head in his hands. His mind swum with unanswered questions.

“There is one way to find out,” he murmured, noting with detached humour the phrase “easy to find” included at the end of Gandalf’s directions.

Stealing his courage, he packed his gear quickly and left the town, heading east towards Hobbiton, and the answers he sought. 

***

Thorin stood cloaked in the shadows under the tree outside of Bag End. He had managed to find his way without any wrong turnings, but found himself reluctant to cross the final distance to the green painted door with its glistening wizard mark.

Thorin Oakenshield was not one to believe in miracles, but he had never felt such fervent hope as was aching in his chest. Absently he rubbed at the spot where the Pale Orc’s blade had entered his flesh, trying catch a glimpse through the merrily gleaming windows.

Heavy footsteps trod up the path to his side, and he suppressed a cry as Dwalin marched up to the door and rang the doorbell. He couldn’t quite stop the gasp that escaped him when Bilbo Baggins opened the door with a perplexed expression, dressed in a patchwork dressing gown. Dwalin frowned over his shoulder towards the darkness hiding Thorin before turning back to the hobbit and bowing stoically.

“Dwalin, at your service,” the dwarf said, glancing down at Bilbo’s attire.

Thorin watched his burglar stutter and tie his gown closed as Dwalin entered the hobbit hole, and as the confused halfling shut the door again Thorin sunk to his knees.

 _Whatever I have done to deserve this chance,_ he thought, closing his eyes and feeling tears run down his cheeks, _I will not squander it._

The king fought to get himself under control as Balin arrived, listening to the faint sounds of the brothers chuckling and Bilbo’s irritated chatter. The exercise soon proved to be folly, as Fíli and Kíli stomped up the path, Kíli elbowing his brother aside to reach the green door first and ring the bell. Fíli shoved his brother in retaliation, grinning broadly, and Thorin shuddered at the sudden memory of the prince’s blankly staring eyes as The Defiler’s blade had pierced him.

Thorin’s mind whirled, shaking off the vision as the boys strutted inside. His thoughts settled, determination squaring his shoulders. His homeland lay defiled by a slumbering serpent, and _this time,_ he thought, _I will not fail my kin and kingdom._

Gandalf and the remainder of the company rounded the bend and approached the halfling’s house, the dwarves crowding forward to fit on the porch. Thorin grinned as Bilbo opened the door in a huff, and the dwarves fell forward in a heap. 

_I cannot tell anyone,_ the thought came with certainty. He risked changing too much; too many paths could lead to failure and death. As the sounds of merriment echoed from the house, Thorin felt a stab of doubt. He did not know if he could keep the knowledge from his friends. _I am not the same dwarf who first knocked on that green door,_ he thought with a rueful smile. A new level of self awareness allowed him to admit to himself that subtlety was not exactly his strong point.

As the rowdy singing drew to a close he took a deep breath and walked into the light. He hesitated, fist raised, gathering his courage, before banging the freshly painted wood.

He schooled his face into what he hoped was an arrogantly nonchalant expression, and the wizard opened the door.

“Gandalf,” he said with a nod, hoping that none of his turmoil showed on his face.

“You and I differ greatly in our opinion of the phrase ‘easy to find’ my friend,” he crossed the threshold, remembering with a smirk the irritation he had felt at losing his way on his first visit. 

He glanced up at Bilbo as he removed his cloak, unable to stop himself from cataloguing the differences in his friend’s appearance. Even with the knowledge of what was to come he found it difficult to reconcile the fragile creature fidgeting in the entryway with his blood stained brother in arms.

“Mister Baggins I presume?” Thorin inclined his head to the hobbit, giving Kíli his cloak, “Gandalf informs me that you are a burglar of considerable skill.”

Over Bilbo’s shoulder Thorin saw Balin raise an eyebrow at him in puzzlement. _Right, too polite._

“Bur – burglar?!” the hobbit squeaked, mouth opening and shutting uselessly.

“Bilbo Baggins,” said Gandalf, “allow me to introduce the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield.”

“He looks more like a grocer than a burglar,” the dwarf joked, and by the chuckles of the others he’d successfully kept his tone scathing rather than fond.

He caught the irritated glare that Bilbo shot at him as he turned away, following the company to the dining room.

“All seven kingdoms sent envoys to Ered Luin,” he said as the others took their seats. 

Pleased murmurs spread though the group, and Dwalin asked “and what do the dwarves of the Iron Hills say? Is Dain with us?”

Thorin remembered the crushing disappointment that he felt the first time he told the company that they would be facing their journey without the backing of Dain’s warriors, and breaking the news was just as difficult the second time around.

“You’re… going on a quest?” Bilbo’s timid voice asked from over Gandalf’s shoulder, and Thorin noticed something he’d missed last time – a spark of curiosity in the hobbit’s eyes.

As Gandalf spread the familiar map on the table before him, and Bilbo leant over his shoulder with a candle in hand, Thorin fought down a wave of memories. _Erebor._

He let the chatter of the company wash over him, until Balin voiced the concern he knew was on all their minds.

“The task would be difficult enough with an army behind us, but we number just thirteen, and not thirteen of the best, nor brightest.”

“I would take each and every one of you here over an army from the Iron Hills, for when I called upon you, you answered,” Thorin spoke the words that he had once been too proud to utter to any but Balin. “Loyalty, honour, and a willing heart… I can ask no more than that.” 

The white haired dwarf looked at him askance, and he knew that if he wanted to avoid suspicion he would have to be careful not to stray too far from the dwarf Balin thought him to be. It was worth it to see the effect his words had on the company, pride touching their faces and straightening their backs.

Kíli pounded the table with his fist.

“Besides!” the prince exclaimed, “we have a wizard in our company; Gandalf will have killed hundreds of dragons in his time!”

Thorin raised an amused eyebrow at the wizard as he tried to hedge around the excited dwarves’ questions.

As their arguing escalated to shouting he stood and cried in Khuzdul, “< _Silence! >”_

He had their undivided attention as he spoke of the importance of their quest, and he saw the passion in their eyes as they cheered. _My friends._

“You forget,” interjected Balin, “the front gate is sealed! There is no way into the mountain.”

Gandalf leant forward with a twinkle in his eye.

“That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true.”

The wizard revealed the key with a twist of his hand, and Thorin felt the same sense of wonder he had the first time he saw it.

He took the key reverently. _Father._

Fíli’s enthusiasm over the possibility of a secret door brought a smile to Thorin’s lips; his nephew had always had a bit of a penchant for stating the obvious.

He felt a low coil of anger as Gandalf danced around speaking of “others” who may be able to read the map. _Meddling wizards and their weed-eating friends._

“The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth, and no small amount of courage,” Gandalf said, glancing up at Bilbo.

The clueless hobbit blinked as the wizard continued, “But if we are careful and clever, I believe that it can be done.”

“That’s why we need a burglar!” Ori exclaimed, eyes shining with excitement. 

_So young,_ thought Thorin. 

Bilbo blanched at the word ‘burglar’, eyes darting to Thorin.

“Wha- no, no, no! You need a professional, an expert!” the hobbit looked up at Gandalf beseechingly.

“Are you not an expert, Master Baggins?” the king asked softly, pinning the floundering halfling with a stare.

Óin piped up, “He said he’s an expert!”

Bilbo tore his gaze away from Thorin’s. 

“I am not a burglar!” he said indignantly, “I’ve never stolen a thing in my life!”

“I’m afraid I have to agree with Mr Baggins,” Balin added, “He’s hardly burglar material.”

Thorin stifled the urge to speak up in Bilbo’s defence as Dwalin continued, “Aye, the Wild is no place for gentle folk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves.”

The dwarves began to argue again, and Thorin grit his teeth while the volume rose until Gandalf surged to his feet.

“Enough! If I say Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, then a burglar he is!” the wizard’s voice thundered and the edges of the room darkened to shadow. “Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet. In fact, they can pass unseen by most if they choose, and while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of dwarf, the scent of hobbit is all but unknown to him. Which gives us a distinct advantage.”

Thorin met Gandalf’s eyes as the wizard retook his seat.

“You asked me to find the fourteenth member of this company, and I have chosen Mr Baggins. There’s a lot more to him than appearances suggest, and he’s got a great deal more to offer than any of you know! Inlcuding himself.”

 _You have no idea,_ Thorin thought, rolling his eyes to cover his smile. 

“You must trust me on this,” Gandalf finished, leaning forward.

“Very well,” Thorin began as Bilbo started spluttering in protest, “I will trust in the halfling.”

Bilbo froze at his words, and Gandalf and Balin looked at him sharply.

“Give him the contract,” he said gruffly to Balin, thinking _this is proving even more difficult than I had hoped._

He avoided eye contact with anyone as Balin handed Bilbo the contract. _I am not well versed in keeping secrets from my kin._ He could feel Gandalf considering him.

Thorin stood and leant against the doorway with his arms crossed, studiously looking at the ceiling as Bilbo read through the contract under his breath.

“ _Incineration?!”_ the hobbit turned to the company in disbelief.

“Oh aye!” said Bofur with a grin. “He’ll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye!” 

Thorin scowled at the miner, and Balin asked, “You alright, laddie?”

The king sighed as Bilbo swayed on his feet.

_How in Durin’s name is this the same hobbit that faces down the Pale Orc?_

Bofur continued to bait the unsteady hobbit, until with a short “Nope!” he collapsed. 

Acting on instinct, Thorin reached out and grabbed Bilbo’s arm as he fell. 

Bofur and a couple of the others chuckled at the hobbit’s antics, but Balin was staring at him with concern, and Gandalf raised one bushy eyebrow.

Thorin lowered the unconscious halfling to the ground, doing his best to look disgusted. 

“You had best know what you are doing Gandalf,” he said, mustering up a scowl. “I will not be responsible for his fate.”

As he stepped over Bilbo and out of the room he noticed Fíli and Kíli exchanging a puzzled look. _Excellent, I cannot even act well enough to convince those fools._

Thorin fared better when Bilbo and his nephews weren’t nearby, and he was fairly certain he managed to assuage Balin’s suspicions. He appreciated the old dwarf’s words of comfort, though he felt his stomach lurch sickeningly when Balin mentioned the gold of Erebor.

“Balin,” he leaned forward, “this quest is not for _gold_. This quest is for cool, starry nights and warm hearths; for proud craftsmen plying their trade and great feasts that last for days. It is for voices raised in song and laughter. This quest is for _home,_ Balin. There is no choice. Not for me.”

Balin got to his feet and grasped Thorin’s shoulder. The pride shining in his eyes was unmistakable, and the king felt a hot flash of shame.

 _I do not deserve admiration._

“Then we are with you laddie,” Balin said with a wide smile, so far removed from the weary resignation he’d shown the first time they’d spoken of this. “We will see it done.”

Thorin walked back to the dining room, overhearing Gandalf and Bilbo talking in the lounge.

“I can’t just go running off into the blue! I am a Baggins, of Bag End!”

He tripped over a rug in shock, ignoring Kíli’s guffaw. _Was the halfling that adamant about staying behind last time?_ Fear crept into his chest. _What if I have already changed too much? What if he does not come?_ He shied away from that line of thought; he didn’t want to consider how the quest would end if Bilbo did not join the company.

Bilbo walked past the doorway, and Balin noted, “It appears we have lost our burglar.”

The company gathered in front of the fire place, and Thorin lost himself in memory and song. Whatever twist of fate had once convinced the halfling to accompany them, he would have to have faith that Bilbo would once again prove himself to be a remarkable hobbit.

***

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! 
> 
> I hope you're enjoying what is the first fanfic that I've ever written.
> 
> The first part of this story is written in its entirety, and I'm currently working on the second. The parts will mirror the timeline of the three movies.
> 
> I absolutely adore this pairing, though I never thought that I would - I blame rewatching the movies and devouring an embarassing amount of Battle of Five Armies Fix It and Time Travel fic.
> 
> It took the complete overdose of feels that sprung from the last movie to lure me out of my nice, cosy, fanfic reading hole, to venture into the vastly unfamiliar world of fanfic writing.
> 
> Wish me luck; I can only hope that my adventure ends better than Bilbo's.
> 
> \- Lady Zephyr


	2. Chapter 2

The company was up at the crack of dawn the next morning, and though they made no particular effort to remain quiet Bilbo didn’t as much as stir. As they gathered their belongings Thorin noticed a folded handkerchief embroidered with the initials B.B. Glancing around quickly to check that he wasn’t being watched, he slipped it into his cloak.

They made good time picking up their ponies and setting out across the Shire, despite Thorin’s attempts to delay them.

He felt surly and irritated as they crossed the beautiful scenery. It had only been one day and his patience was in shreds. He lingered at the rear of the company, letting Gandalf lead the way and feeling offended that his kin folk had stopped giving him considering looks as soon as his mood blackened. Apparently being _polite_ was suspicious, but it was business as usual when we was in a temper.

If he changed too much or anyone found out about his situation he risked events spiralling out of his control, but changing anything at all without giving himself away was proving next to impossible thus far. 

He glared up the line at Gandalf; even now the wizard was likely plotting to steer them towards Rivendell, and _where was the cursed halfling!_ He wilfully ignored the small voice in his head that told him that the hobbit’s continued absence was the real source of his foul humour. _Hadn’t he caught up to us by now?_ He searched his memory, straining to remember.

“Wait!” 

The relief that flooded him at the sound of Bilbo’s voice was slightly embarrassing. He signalled a halt, and turned his pony to watch the hobbit scrambling up the path.

“I signed it!” Bilbo declared, hesitating briefly in front of Thorin before stepping past him to hand the contract to Balin.

Balin examined the contract while Bilbo fidgeted and Gandalf beamed down at him.

“Everything appears to be in order!” said Balin with a smile. “Welcome Master Baggins, to the company of Thorin Oakenshield.”

 _Finally,_ thought Thorin, _something has gone right on this forsaken venture._

He grinned down at Bilbo, noting with amusement the unease that his expression caused the hobbit.

“Give him a pony.”

He guided his mount to the front of the group, his mood much improved by Bilbo’s blustering, and the squeak he made as Fíli and Kíli hauled him onto a chestnut mare. 

The dwarves collected their wagers; Thorin was proud of Kíli for aptly judging the character of their new burglar. He rubbed the pocket holding the hobbit’s handkerchief as Bilbo discovered his lack. _You have so far to come, my friend._

***

The company soon left the Shire behind, and Thorin’s good mood persisted thanks to his amusement at the way Bilbo dithered between deep regret at leaving his cosy home, and a sort of quiet, fierce determination.

They stopped one night in a small clearing on the side of a cliff face, the outlook providing them with a fair view of their surroundings. The dwarves set up the camp in a flurry of activity, and Thorin saw Bilbo head off past a few trees to examine the view as the sun set. The king glanced around, noting with satisfaction that the rest of the company were absorbed in their tasks; he’d thus far been unable to catch the hobbit by himself. 

Stealing up behind the halfling quietly, he asked, “What do you think of your adventure so far, Master Burglar?”

Bilbo jumped and flailed, and Thorin smirked as he surveyed the land beyond the overhang.

“Uh, my adventure?” the hobbit blinked up at him rapidly. “It’s been, uh, it’s been nice?”

“I found something that I imagine will make the, ah, _gruelling_ journey more bearable,” Thorin said, producing Bilbo’s handkerchief with a flourish. 

The relief that spread over Bilbo’s face was hilarious. He gaped up at Thorin, dumbfounded.

“How - how did you..? This is mine!”

“I must have picked it up by mistake when I collected my cloak, I found it in my pack.” 

Thorin couldn’t quite keep the smile off of his face. Fíli and Kíli trumped by, their arms full of firewood, and Thorin turned to follow them back to camp.

“Perhaps now you will cease your incessant complaining,” he threw mockingly over his shoulder at the shell-shocked hobbit.

His nephews took the first watch, sitting by the flickering fire while the rest of the company spread their bedrolls. Thorin attempted to rest, but his dreams were darkened by memories of Fíli and Kíli on Ravenhill. 

“Orcs?!”

He awoke with a start at Bilbo’s tense cry, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Throat cutters,” Fíli said with a mischievous gleam in his eye. “There’ll be dozens of them out there. The Lone-lands are crawling with them.”

Kíli picked up where his brother had left off. “They strike in the wee small hours when everyone’s asleep. Quick and quiet; no screams. Just lots of blood.”

Bilbo spun to stare into the night, eyes wide with fear. Thorin’s nephews chuckled together, and the king’s temper flared.

“You think that’s funny?” he asked, deathly serious. The princes’ faces fell.

“A night raid by Orcs is no joke.”

“They didn’t mean anything by it!” Bilbo interjected unexpectedly, and the dwarves looked up at him in surprise.

Fíli and Kíli looked taken aback, and Thorin scowled down at the hobbit, taking a half step towards him. _It is far too early for him to have found his back bone._ Bilbo shrank back under the dwarf’s glare, but then straightened and met his gaze. Thorin’s anger was gone as quickly as it had arrived, the sudden loss leaving his stomach churning uncomfortably.

“We didn’t,” Kíli said demurely, and Thorin was able to break away from Bilbo’s stare to stalk over to the far side of the campsite.

The princes both inclined their heads to the hobbit, and Bilbo shifted his weight, embarrassed.

“Don’t mind him laddie,” said Balin, considering the halfling thoughtfully.

Thorin tried to block out Balin’s words as his old friend wove the tale of his grandfather’s death, his father’s madness, and Azog’s defeat. He turned to face the company, aching with the grief that Balin’s story had awakened. 

“And the Pale Orc?” Bilbo asked. “What happened to him?”

Thorin closed his eyes, leaving Balin to answer the hobbit’s query. _I was a blind fool._

***

The company continued to wind its way East, the rain and the knowledge that they were heading for Rivendell serving to worsen Thorin’s mood again.

He considered following Gandalf’s advice and pressing onwards when they reached the abandoned farmhouse near the troll’s cave, but decided against it in fear of stumbling on the monsters unaware. At least he knew where the creatures would be tonight. _I will just have to ensure that we deal with them again._ Gandalf left in a huff much as he had the first time, and Thorin occupied himself setting up the camp and caring for his gear.

He settled against a rock, examining the map of Erebor as the night darkened, trying to catch a glimpse of the hidden runes in the moonlight. He glanced up, and twitched involuntarily as he realised that Bilbo wasn’t present. He sprang to his feet, cursing under his breath.

“I’m going to check on the lads,” he threw over his shoulder at Balin as he hurried across the campsite and through the trees.

“Mountain trolls are slow and stupid, and you’re so small, they’ll never see you!” Kíli whispered as Thorin stalked silently through the undergrowth. _Ah, so that is why our untested hobbit tried his skills against the monsters._

“It’s perfectly safe! We’ll be right behind you,” Kíli continued. 

Fíli chimed in, “If you run into trouble, hoot twice like a barn owl and once like a brown owl!”

“Wait!” Thorin hissed, striding up to the trio.

His nephews spun to face him bearing twin expressions of dismay.

“Uncle!”

“We were just-“

“Silence!” Thorin growled under his breath. “Go back to the campsite, bring the company; tell them to move swiftly.”

The princes nodded and dashed off through the trees.

Thorin held a finger to his lips, and jerked his head towards the trolls. Bilbo opened his mouth as if to protest, but instead huffed out a breath and followed Thorin as he crept towards the light of the creatures’ campfire. They reached the trolls’ camp just as one of the monsters finished dumping two more ponies in a makeshift pen.

The dwarf crouched low, intending on stalking slightly closer, only to be brought up short as Bilbo grabbed his shoulder and pushed him roughly behind a tree. Thorin stared up at the halfling in shock. Bilbo met his eyes with a glare.

“You make more noise than a drunken Chubb,” he leant forward to breathe in Thorin’s ear.

The king shifted uncomfortably, torn between taking offense and pride in the hobbit.

“We need to get the ponies out, they’re going to eat them,” Bilbo hissed.

Thorin leant around the hobbit to look back the way they had come, but there was no sign of their friends. He glanced up at Bilbo, and made a decision.

“Here,” he said, unsheathing his dagger from his belt. “Cut the rope of the pen.”

Bilbo’s eyes widened. “Wha- no! Thorin, I can’t-“

“Mr Baggins,” the king interrupted him, leaning forward to meet the hobbit’s eyes, “you can do this.”

Bilbo stared back, eyes darting over Thorin’s face, then set his jaw and nodded slightly.

The dwarf handed over his knife hilt first, and the hobbit took the rune-carved blade before carefully creeping up to the fence. Thorin’s heart was thudding incessantly in his ears as he watched Bilbo carefully begin to saw through the rope, the dwarvish blade slicing quickly through the thick strands.

The rope parted with a loud snap, and three monstrous heads turned to stare at the frozen hobbit. The trolls jumped to their feet, roaring in outrage, and the ponies bolted. Thorin leapt out from his hiding place with his sword in his hand as Bilbo was knocked to the ground, but one of the trolls reached out with deceptive swiftness to seize the halfling. 

“Drop him now!” the king snarled, rage distorting his features, blade held high.

“Phwagh!” the troll holding Bilbo frowned down at Thorin, “You’ve lost us our supper!”

Bilbo twisted in its grasp, raising Thorin’s knife and plunging it down into the creature’s flesh. The troll shrieked, and flung the hobbit at Thorin. The two of them crashed to the ground, Thorin’s breath knocked out of him under the halfling’s weight. 

“It stuck me!” cried the monster, and Thorin wrapped an arm around Bilbo’s waist, staggering to his feet while pulling the hobbit up with him. They made a break for the tree line, Bilbo stumbling and wheezing with an arm looped over the king’s shoulders.

The dwarves of the company exploded from the darkness with a cacophony of battle cries. The clang of metal and the trolls’ roars echoed through the night, and Thorin set Bilbo on his feet, gripping the hobbit’s shoulder to steady him.

“Are you alright?” he asked urgently, ducking to the side as Nori went flying past them.

“Yes, wait-“

“Stay here!” the king snarled, turning and flinging himself into the fray. 

The company took advantage of their smaller size and manoeuvrability, ducking under the trolls’ clumsy swings and working together as a team. They lasted far longer than Thorin had hoped for, but eventually Kíli was knocked to the ground with a sickening thud. Fíli hesitated in one spot for a fraction of a second too long, looking at his brother, and didn’t see the grasping hand that seized him.

The bottom dropped out of Thorin’s stomach as the biggest troll held Fíli aloft, stretching his arms out to either side painfully.

_No._

The company froze, and the troll snarled, “Lay down your arms, or-“

There was a whistle of air and a flash of metal, and suddenly Thorin’s dagger was sprouting from the troll’s eye. The monster screamed in agony, dropping Fíli to claw at its face. 

Dwalin and Glóin darted forward to pull the prince back towards the group, and the company called out jeers and taunts, brandishing their weapons as the trolls staggered, its acrid black blood splattering to the ground.

Thorin saw a flash of grey moving through the trees to the east. _Yes!_ he thought with relief, noticing the early morning glow hidden below the horizon.

“The dawn will take you all!” cried the wizard as he sprung nimbly onto the huge boulder on the side of the campsite.

The injured troll ripped out the knife and flung it to the ground, lunging madly towards Gandalf. A flash of white light split the massive rock in twain, and sunlight streamed into the clearing. The trolls’ skin stiffened and cracked, and they twisted and writhed in apparent agony. Within seconds their hide had hardened completely; they had turned to stone.

The dwarves laughed and cheered, and Gandalf leant on his staff, smiling down at the trolls in satisfaction.

“That was quite a shot, Mr Baggins,” said Balin, and the dwarves turned to face Bilbo.

“Where on Middle Earth did you learn to throw a knife like that?” demanded Dwalin.

“Bilbo, that was amazing!”

“Superb aim.”

“Fantastic!”

“Who’d have thought it, eh?”

“Yeh saved the prince!”

Kíli interrupted the dwarves’ praise by tackling an embarrassed Bilbo in a bear hug.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!” he repeated as the hobbit struggled to breath.

“Leave him be you lummox,” Fíli said with a smile, pulling his younger brother off. “You have my thanks, Master Baggins, for my life.”

Fíli bowed deeply to the halfling, and Bilbo fidgeted uncomfortably. 

“Oh, I, er, it was nothing, I mean-“

“Where did you gain such skill at marksmanship, Master Burglar?” Thorin asked, tilting his head to consider the hobbit.

“Ah, well, you see… I… conkers?” the halfling trailed off in a squeak.

The king stared at Bilbo for a moment, nonplussed, then threw his head back and let out a deep bark of laughter. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story continues!
> 
> Thorin darling, you cannot expect your hobbit to still be as scared of you when you go around smiling at him and giving him handkerchiefs. It tends to poke a hole in the whole "unapproachable, brooding, angry king" shtick you have going on.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed Bilbo's badassery. He's certainly coming along much faster in terms of his confidence than he did on Thorin's first journey, though don't expect him to suddenly become a knife flinging battle hardened warrior - I think of it more as a lucky shot made in a split second of terror. 
> 
> The next chapter will be up in a few days, if I can refrain from posting it earlier. In the mean time critiques and comments are welcome!
> 
> \- Lady Zephyr
> 
> PS I am fully aware that flicking one chestnut at another does not in reality give one the skills to hurl dwarven daggers at mountain trolls by moon light. I am wilfully ignoring this fact for the sake of a punch line - we'll just say that Bilbo is terrible at explaining things when put on the spot by thirteen overjoyed dwarves and still a little terrified that he'd attempted the shot in the first place.


	3. Chapter 3

As Thorin chuckled the company crowded back around a dazed looking Bilbo, and the king walked over to greet Gandalf.

“You took your time coming back to us, Master Wizard,” he said. _Scouting the way to the elves no doubt._

“Hmmph. Well it appears that my burglar was doing a fine job of managing things in my absence.” 

“That he was,” Thorin agreed, picking up his bloodstained dagger and wiping it clean. 

He kept an eye on the angle of the sun; he planned to see them well on the way to Rivendell before the orc pack discovered them.

“The beasts must have had a cave nearby,” the king stated, “they could not have travelled in daylight.”

“Hmmm” Gandalf agreed, looking around thoughtfully. The wizard opened his mouth to say something further, but Thorin turned and marched back to the company.

“Fan out!” he ordered. “Find the trolls’ lair.”

Thorin strode quickly into the forest, attempting to look as if he didn’t know where he was going. _It will be good to have Orcrist in hand again._ Bilbo excused himself from the princes and trotted after the king, and Thorin slowed his steps briefly so the hobbit could catch up. They walked silently for a moment, then Thorin unbuckled his dagger and handed the sheathed weapon over.

“Here, it would appear to be an advantage to the company to have you armed,” he said curtly.

“Oh,” Bilbo said softly, taking the weapon carefully.

“Thank you, Thorin.”

Thorin huffed out a breath in reply, his chest feeling strangely tight. He came to a halt as a vile stench entered his nose. They had found the troll’s hoard.

“Excellent,” Thorin said, walking up to the reeking entranceway. “Mr Baggins, can you-“

He froze midstep, every muscle locked tight. There were a couple of golden coins gleaming dully in the morning sunlight.

_Gold._

Thorin’s eyes tracked slowly upwards, focusing on the cave entrance.

_Gold beyond measure._

“Hmm?” Bilbo stopped beside him, looking between the king and the troll hole.

“Thorin?!” the halfling stepped in front of the dwarf, eyes wide and panicked.

He closed his eyes with a shudder, reeling backwards.

“Thorin!” Bilbo grabbed him by the shoulders, steadying him. 

“Gandalf! Balin!” the hobbit shouted, fear in his voice.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Thorin shook his head, gathering his thoughts.

“What happened?!”

“I… it was nothing.” Thorin hedged.

“Nothing!” Bilbo squeaked, giving the king a small shake.

“I… sometimes I get… dizzy,” he murmured, meeting the halfling’s gaze and attempting to look reassuring. 

“Dizzy?” Bilbo looked at him incredulously.

“Please,” the king entreated, reaching up to grip the hobbit’s arm. “Do not tell the others.”

“But- oh, fine then!” Bilbo snapped, letting going of the dwarf’s shoulders and crossing his arms.

“Thank you,” Thorin replied with a warm smile.

“Oh, shut it,” the hobbit retorted, but he returned the smile. “Are we going in there?”

Thorin braced himself.

“Yes.”

_Go in. Get the blades. Get out._

He took a last breath, and marched quickly down into the cave, thankful to have Bilbo trotting quickly at his side. Coins clinked underfoot, and sweet whispers sounded in his ears; a melody just beyond the range of hearing.

“Phwaaghh, what a foul stench!” Bilbo coughed, his voice cutting through the gold’s song.

“Indeed,” Thorin agreed. “See if you can find anything of use.”

He crossed straight to the elven blades, picking up Orcrist and Glamdring. The Goblin Cleaver felt good in his hand. _To think I almost refused it._

“Find anything?” he asked Bilbo.

“Nothing of use,” the hobbit answered, shifting a golden chalice aside to look behind it.

Thorin smiled sadly at the halfling. _If only my heart was as half as true as yours, little burglar._

“Come on, let’s get out of this foul place.”

As they headed back to the light Thorin noticed a familiar hilt poking out from a pile of refuse. _Ah, I cannot forget the hobbit’s blade._ He hesitated briefly before kneeling to pick up the elven dagger; the idea of Bilbo carrying a weapon made by the fair folk left an unpleasant taste in his mouth.They stepped out of the lair, and the bright sunlight on Thorin’s face banished the last of the treasure’s fog. The dwarf handed _Sting_ to Bilbo.

“Here,” he said, “soon you will have collected as many blades as Fíli.”

“I can’t take this,” Bilbo said, shifting in embarrassment, “I have never used a sword in my life.”

“Better to have it and not need it, than have need and find yourself lacking,” Thorin replied, remembering Bilbo flying through the smoke with a yell, blue blade flashing.

Bilbo nodded reluctantly, and belted _Sting_ around his waist, attaching Thorin’s dagger as well. The king led the way back to the company, feeling irrationally pleased at the sight of the dwarven blade on the halfling’s hip.

He gathered the dwarves with a series of curt orders, getting everyone mounted and moving on, snapping waspishly at anyone who tarried. The company travelled quickly, their conversation kept to a minimum to avoid running afoul of Thorin’s temper. Gandalf muttered under his breath as they rode along, and Thorin was fairly certain he caught the words “stubborn, fool dwarf!” several times.

“Thorin,” the wizard said, bringing his horse up alongside the king’s. “We should make for the Hidden Valley.”

Thorin grunted in reply, scanning the surrounding countryside and listening intensely for warg howls.

“The elves could help us!” the wizard continued. “Lord Elrond is one of the few in a Middle Earth capable of reading that map!”

“Fine,” snapped Thorin.

“To not seek him out when his house lies so close is the height of folly!”

“I said fine!” Thorin roared. 

Gandalf opened his mouth to continue arguing, then shut it with a harrumph, eyeing the dwarf sharply.

“Lead the way then, but swiftly,” the king barked. “I have an ill feeling about this place.”

As if his words had been a summons a fell howl echoed through the trees. Thorin cursed under his breath in Khuzdul.

“Warg!” he cried, and the company picked up their pace, unlimbering their weapons.

“What?!” Bilbo squeaked from the middle of the line where he was riding between the princes.

“Stay near me, Bilbo!” Fíli said tensely, steering his pony with his knees with his dual swords held high.

There was a snap as a branch broke to their right, and a warg charged through the undergrowth. Kíli’s arrow took the beast in the forehead, and Glóin leant from his pony to finish it off with a blow from his axe. The company closed ranks, the ponies shifting and tossing their heads nervously.

A second warg burst out of the trees, slipping past Gandalf to launch itself at Fíli’s horse.

Thorin sawed harshly on his reins, forcing his skittish pony closer and slicing at the creature. Fíli rolled clear and Bilbo’s pony reared, throwing the hobbit to the ground. The warg swiped out and scored the halfling’s panicked pony along the flank, and the horse bolted as Dwalin swung his war hammer with a roar, caving in the beast’s skull.

“Scouts!” the warrior cried.

“There will be an orc pack not far behind!” said Thorin, reaching down to his nephew to pull him up onto the pony behind him. “We must hurry! Gandalf, we must make it to Rivendell!”

Kíli hauled a quivering Bilbo up by his pack and settled the hobbit in front of him.

“But- Myrtle?!” the halfling asked, visibly shaken.

“She’ll be alright, hold on!” Kíli cried, heeling his pony to a gallop with the rest of the company.

“This way!” cried Gandalf sonorously, and they flew through the trees.

Thorin urged his pony forward; the sturdy animal powering on despite Fíli’s added weight. The forest around them began to thin out, and the king realised that the wizard was leading them back to the East-West Road, not the hidden pass as he had on Thorin’s first journey.

They thundered up to the road, and with an explosion of howls and fowl cries the orc pack caught up to them. They swung east, the pony’s hooves striking up puffs of dust. One of the creatures barrelled past Ori’s horse, its wide snapping jaws barely missing the youngest dwarf before it spun out, powerful legs scrabbling.

“< _MOVE! >” _Thorin yelled in Khuzdul.

“Bilbo, take the reins!” cried Kíli, standing in his stirrups and drawing his bow.

The prince’s arrow took one of the orcs in the neck, and its body was trampled by its charging fellows.

“There’s something up ahead!” called out Dwalin from the front of the column.

Thorin spun around in time to see Radagast the Brown and his rabbit drawn sleigh fly past the dwarves. 

“Gandalf!” the brown wizard cried, wheeling the sleigh around sharply so that it stood on one edge, knocking into a smaller warg before the rabbits put on a burst of speed to catch up to the company.

“Radagast!” Gandalf called back, “whatever are you doing here?!”

“Looking for you, and a good thing I was too! I’ll try and draw some of them off, and meet you in the Valley!”

“Radagast, wait!” shouted Gandalf, but the man had already swung the sleigh around yet again, barrelling straight for the orcs.

“Ha ha!” he yelled, “come and get me!”

The rabbits darted off the side of the road and then quickly back again, vaulting off a ditch and flying over the orc pack. Radagast’s sled knocked the lead orc from his warg, and several riders broke off to pursue the wizard, calling angrily in black speech. The dwarves galloped on, Kíli’s arrows thinning the orc ranks, but the wargs were swiftly gaining on them.

“Thorin, there’s a river!” Fíli yelled at the king’s back, and Thorin lowered himself over his pony’s neck, urging the animal to still greater speed.

“The Bruinen!” cried Gandalf, “we must cross the ford!”

A high, proud horn sounded clearly over the chaos, and abruptly elven riders were streaming from the trees. Arrows flew and elegant blades cut down the creatures, and Thorin and company drew rein quickly. 

“< _To arms! >” _Thorin yelled, jumping off his pony side by side with his nephew, running forward with Orcrist held high.

Together with the elves they routed the orcs quickly, those not slain scattering and slinking back through the trees. Thorin quickly scanned the company, eyes lingering on a relieved looking Bilbo standing by Kíli with Thorin’s dagger in one hand and _Sting_ in the other. To his relief no one appeared to be injured.

“Leave the talking to me,” Gandalf muttered to Thorin as Lord Elrond rode up to them.

“Gandalf!” cried the elf happily.

“Lord Elrond,” the wizard replied fondly, adding something in Elvish with a slight bow.

Thorin snorted as the two continued to exchange free flowing words, annoyed at the awe filled look on Bilbo’s face.

“It appears we have discovered the reason they strayed so close to our borders,” the elf lord switched to the common tongue, looking down at the dwarves with a disdainfully amused expression that made Thorin bristle. 

“Welcome Thorin, son of Thrain” Elrond intoned.

“My Lord Elrond,” Thorin replied stiffly, his dislike warring with the knowledge that the elf was going to help them. “My thanks for your aid.”

Elrond tilted his head to one side. 

“You have your grandfather’s bearing,” the elf said, “though it would appear you are better versed in diplomacy.”

Thorin’s temper erupted, and he stepped forward accompanied by several outraged shouts from the company.

“You have my thanks as well,” said Gandalf, stepping between them swiftly, “we are weary from long days on the road, and if you would allow us to intrude on your hospitality we would be doubly thankful.”

Elrond smiled, and offered the same words of welcome that he had on Thorin’s first visit.

Thorin seethed, and Glóin cried “What is he saying? Does he offer us insult?”

“No,” Thorin snapped before he could think better of it, “he’s offering us food.”

Gandalf and Elrond stared at him in surprise. 

“That I am,” Elrond said softly, eyeing Thorin for a moment before turning and gracefully mounting his horse.

 _I am a fool,_ thought Thorin, as the company mounted up again, Fíli joining Kíli on his pony.

“Do you need a ride, little one?” one of the elves asked Bilbo.

“He does not,” Thorin interrupted before the hobbit could reply, glaring daggers at the elf.

He led Bilbo to his pony, helping him scramble up before getting into the saddle behind him. They rode down the hill to the river, the dwarves’ shaggy ponies trotting beside the elves’ graceful long legged horses. Bilbo gasped as the city came into sight, twisting around to see as much as he could in the circle of Thorin’s arms and the reins, eyes wide with wonder.

“Be still,” Thorin murmured as they came up to the narrow bridge.

“It’s beautiful!” Bilbo breathed, and the king snorted.

“You are easily pleased, Mr Baggins, this is nothing compared to the splendour of Erebor.”

“Oh?” Bilbo replied, twisting with a grin to raise an eyebrow at the dwarf.

Thorin was saved from finding an answer by Elrond inviting them to dismount and follow one of the elves to their rooms. The elf lord seemed to be looking at the king whenever Thorin glanced at him. _Probably wondering how a dwarf came to know the meaning of a Sindarin greeting,_ he thought, collapsing gratefully into the soft bed in the room he was led to. _If I don’t learn to guard my fool tongue, I will be in a world of trouble._

***

The company rested and washed away the dust of the road before joining Lord Elrond for the thoroughly underwhelming dinner. Thorin caught Bilbo eyeing _Sting_ as Elrond told the king and Gandalf the history of their blades, and smiled to himself. He avoided Elrond’s query into their business, leaving Gandalf to speak to the elf while he joined his company.

Despite the elven music Thorin found himself relaxing, watching Fíli and Kíli banter with a fond smile on his face. _I will do whatever it takes to save you._ A flicker of irritation intruded on his good mood when he noticed Bilbo chatting amiably to a pair of elves.He wound his way over to the trio as the elves laughed musically at some quip of Bilbo’s.

“You honour us, little hobbit,” said one, “We are pleased you think our halls so fair.”

“Tell me,” said the other, “how does a halfling come to bear a blade marked with the royal crest of Durin?”

“That,” Thorin said brusquely, stepping up beside Bilbo, “is none of your business.”

“We meant no offense, Master Dwarf,” the first elf said, eyes twinkling.

“Thorin!” Bilbo hissed as Thorin opened his mouth to argue further, and he subsided, settling for crossing his arms and fixing the elves with a glare.

The elves exchanged a few fleeting sentences in their language, looking between the dwarf and the hobbit with growing smiles. Thorin felt strangely uncomfortable at their looks, more so when Gandalf overheard their conversation and looked up quickly. Bilbo murmured apologies to the elves and chivvied the king away with a hand on his shoulder, and Gandalf’s eyebrows rose speculatively.

“That was rude,” Bilbo admonished softly, and Thorin shook off the wizard’s look as they returned to the table.

After dinner Elrond led Gandalf, Thorin, Balin and Bilbo to a star lit balcony, and the elf asked after their business again.

“For goodness sake Thorin, show him the map!” Gandalf argued.

“It is the legacy of my people,” Thorin retorted, still rankled at the elf from his comments at the ford.

“Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves,” Gandalf muttered angrily, but then his eyes gleamed mischievously.

“Bilbo,” the wizard said unexpectedly, and the hobbit started. “Lord Elrond is one of the few in Middle Earth who can read our map, do you think we should show it to him?”

The hobbit gaped, and Thorin’s expression turned thunderous.

“Uh- well… if there’s no one else…” he trailed off, looking to Thorin apologetically.

Gritting his teeth and ignoring Balin’s protest, Thorin handed the map to the elf lord. The reading of the map went much as it had on their first visit, with the exception that Thorin was even more ill-tempered, and Gandalf seemed exceptionally pleased with himself for some unknown reason.

Thorin, Balin and Bilbo returned to the rest of the company, where the dwarves were roasting sausages from their packs with hearty good cheer.

“Prepare yourselves,” Thorin ordered, checking for prying elf ears, “we leave this night.”

***

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter down, featuring Sassy Elrond, Obliviously Jealous Thorin, Shamelessly Manipulative Gandalf, and poor Bilbo stuck in the middle.
> 
> I find writing the gold sickness to be very interesting; I feel that Thorin would be so wary this time around, so soon after everything that happened at Erebor. He's certainly not going to trust himself, and I'd imagine he'd be second guessing his thoughts even around small amounts of wealth at first.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone for taking the time to leave kudos and comments, you are all too lovely!
> 
> \- Lady Z


	4. Chapter 4

The dwarves and Bilbo wound their way out of the Hidden Valley at sunrise the next morning, and Thorin watched Bilbo take a last look at the elegant structures and sparkling waterfalls and sigh. He moved to stand by the hobbit as the rest of the company filed past.

“Come,” he said softly, clapping Bilbo lightly on the back.

“I hope I get to see it again,” Bilbo sighed with a small smile, “it’s so peaceful.”

“I can’t say that I see the appeal, given that it’s full of elves,” the king said teasingly.

Bilbo grinned up at him, the early morning light reflected in his grey-green eyes. Thorin felt something odd clutch at his heart, and his breath caught in his throat. Shoving down the peculiar feeling, he smiled back at the hobbit, and the two of them turned and followed the company out of the valley.

They continued east towards the Misty Mountains, and Thorin noticed the easy comradery that had blossomed between Bilbo and the rest of the company. Fíli and Kíli appeared to have adopted him as an honorary younger brother, often dragging the amused hobbit with them as they scouted ahead. They even attempted to teach him some rudimentary exercises with his sword, which Thorin endorsed wholeheartedly. 

_It is his confidence that is different,_ mused Thorin one night as he watched Bilbo and Bombur argue good naturedly over the cook pot. _That, and the way I treat him,_ he thought with a flash of shame. The company must have mirrored much of their disdain after their leader’s example.

Bofur had befriended the hobbit on their first journey despite the odds stacked against them, and without the ill feeling of the rest of the company the two became inseparable. Every night they sat together, sending smoke rings dancing above the camp fire and laughing. One or another of the others would always join them, till Thorin grew used to the sight of Bilbo enthusiastically discussing this or that book with Ori, or listening attentively while Glóin waxed eloquent about his family.

For reasons he wasn’t entirely clear on, Thorin chose to hold himself apart from the gatherings. He spent his evenings conversing with Balin or discussing the road ahead with his nephews. Despite the fact that it had never bothered him in the past, he found Bofur’s accent had begun to grate on his nerves.

They stopped early one afternoon at the foot of the mountain pass at Thorin’s insistence. He intended to tackle the mountain pass with the benefit of a full day this time around; the experience with the stone giants was one he wasn’t eager to repeat. They set up camp, and Fíli and Kíli returned from scouting with a couple of hares slung over the archer’s shoulder. Bombur busied himself with the cook pot as the others spread themselves out comfortably on the hillside. 

Dwalin stomped over to Thorin and held a hand out to the king.

“Come on yer majesty,” he rumbled with a grin, “all this dull walking is getting to me.”

Thorin returned the grin, letting his friend pull him to his feet.

“And I suppose you’d like me to throw you into the dirt a few times to break the monotony?” he asked.

“Ha! I’d like to see you try laddie!” Dwalin barked, leading the way to a section of flat ground as Thorin removed his coat of mail, stripping down to his grey undershirt.

He dropped into a fighting stance when Dwalin had removed his own outer layers, light on his feet with his fists held ready. Dwalin didn’t bother with the preliminaries, charging forward with a roar. Thorin stepped nimbly to the side with a laugh, spinning to throw several quick jabs that his friend blocked easily. They traded blows back and forth, falling into the familiar rhythm.

“I’ll bet you ten coins that Uncle ends up in the dust!” Fíli said to his brother with a wicked grin.

“Hah! You’re on!” Kíli replied, “Dwalin doesn’t stand a chance.”

The rest of the company exchanged wagers, calling out insults and encouragement indiscriminately. Thorin revelled in the feeling of aching muscles, memory taking him back to many an afternoon spent sparring with Dwalin over their long years in exile.

“Care t’ make a wager, Bilbo?” Thorin heard Bofur ask, and he dodged back to meet the hobbit’s eyes.

Bilbo looked a little dazed, but the corner of his mouth curled up in a smirk as he looked at Thorin.

“I’ll put my money on the king,” he said, and Thorin suddenly felt his breath driven out from his lungs as Dwalin took advantage of his distraction to tackle him. 

The dwarves whooped and hollered. Dwalin’s supporters started celebrating, but Thorin twisted backwards, copying a move that he’d seen an elf use at the battle outside of Erebor. _The elves are good for some things after all._ He used Dwalin’s momentum to flip the warrior over, knocking the wind from his friend as he landed on the ground.

Kíli and Thorin’s other supporters cheered happily, and began collecting their winnings while Dwalin groaned on the grass. Thorin helped the dwarf to his feet, grinning happily and drenched in sweat. 

“Always happy to put the peasants in their place,” he said.

“Bah!” said Dwalin, stretching out his back.

Thorin strode back to his pack to fetch his water skin, irrationally pleased to see Bofur grumbling as he handed a bag of coins to Bilbo.

“What do you think, Master Baggins?” he asked the hobbit, taking a swig from the skin.

“What do I… s- sorry?!” Bilbo squeaked in reply, eyes unfocused and staring before they snapped up to Thorin’s face.

Bofur guffawed, and shuffled off when Bilbo shot him an irritated glare.

“We may not be a choir of elves, but Durin’s folk can provide some entertainment for their resident burglar,” the king teased.

Bilbo grinned up at him.

“Well,” the halfling replied, “I didn’t win any money watching the elves’ songs, so I suppose dwarves are good for some things.”

“Some things!” Thorin cried in mock outrage, “you wound me gravely, halfling.”

“Sorry if I’ve upset your delicate sensibilities, dwarf,” Bilbo quipped in reply.

Thorin chuckled. He sat beside the hobbit on the hillside, stretching out his pleasantly aching muscles. He caught Balin looking at them strangely, and avoided his advisor’s eyes in favour of watching Fíli and Kíli as they trumped out to have a match of their own. He spent a rather pleasant evening laughing and joking with his kin folk as they sat around the fire, Bilbo a solid presence at his side.

***

The next morning they began their assault on the mountain. The storm from the night before had left everything brisk and shining in the morning light, and there was nary a stone giant to be seen as they tracked their way up the narrow pathways. The way was treacherous enough even in the daylight, and the company crept up the mountain slowly. 

The sun was just past midday when Thorin allowed himself to think that for once his foreknowledge had kept them out of danger. 

He should have known.

He turned around a sharp bend, and his foot came down on nothing but air. He cried out in shock, arms windmilling, and Glóin grabbed his arm and pulled him backwards. Thorin managed to grab a hold of the side of the cliff, steadying himself as his heart stuttered in his chest. Beneath his feet the path ended; for several fathoms there was only a sheer vertical cliff face, before the path resumed on the other side. Far down below a river ran through a deep gully.

“What now?” asked Óin from over his brother’s shoulder. 

Thorin cursed, smacking a fist against the rock wall in anger hard enough that the rock shook… and continued to shake. He stared at it in puzzlement.

“Thorin!” Bilbo cried, slipping past the dwarves to the front of the line, panic in his voice.

The king stared down at where the hobbit had half-drawn _Sting_ from its scabbard. The blade was glistening brightly blue.

“Above us!” Thorin shouted, drawing _Orcrist_ and looking up the quivering cliff face.

Hordes of goblins streamed down towards them, screeching foul cries now that they’d lost the element of surprise.

“< _To arms!_ >” the king yelled in Khuzdul, and the rest of the company took up the cry.

Within a heartbeat the creatures were upon them, and Thorin had no time for thought beyond the thrust and parry of his blade. He fought back to back with Bilbo and Glóin, the fiery haired warrior yelling fiercely while the hobbit stabbed with silent determination, small blade sliding in under the whirling axe to take the goblins in their legs and abdomens.

Bilbo let out a small cry of pain, and Thorin whirled as he took the head off of yet another goblin. Bright red blood was gushing out of a deep gash in the halfling’s forearm. Thorin reached out and pulled Bilbo to his side, slashing out with Orcrist and slicing the throat of a goblin that had been about to bring its sword down on the hobbit’s head. The mass of goblins seethed around them, and Thorin was swamped by despair for a fractured second. _They are too many._

They stumbled back half a step. Thorin had time to register the sharp CRACK as the ledge beneath his feet shifted. 

With a feeling of stunned weightlessness, Thorin and Bilbo toppled off the cliff into nothingness.

“THORIN!!” he heard Kíli cry faintly through the whistling wind, and then with a roaring noise everything faded to black.

***

Thorin woke, spluttering, to the sound of water running. He sat up and twisted over, vomiting what felt like half a river onto a muddy bank. When his stomach was empty he looked up, examining his surroundings. He was in a dimly lit cave, far to one side he could see the light where a rushing stream entered the side of the mountain. To the other side the river wound on deeper into the darkness, and behind him several tunnels of various sizes gaped cavernously. 

He was quite alone.

“BILBO?!” he yelled, fear gripping him.

He staggered to his feet, peering into the blackness, and began to follow the edge of the river.

“Bilbo!” he called again, desperately, frantically trying to push back the stark terror welling up in his chest.

The cave smelt dank and mouldy, and the mud squelched thickly under his boots.

“Thorin?” the hobbit’s voice called weakly.

The king felt a crashing relief. Ahead of him, a dark shape wedged between the muddy beach and a jagged rock stirred and groaned.

The dwarf let out a relieved moan and fell to his knees at the halfling’s side, helping him to sit up. Bilbo hissed as Thorin knocked his injured arm, waving off the king’s frantic apologies.

“I’m fine,” he insisted, “Where are we? I remember the ledge breaking…”

“We must have landed in the river,” Thorin replied, putting a hand on Bilbo’s chin and twisting it to the side to check his skull for any injury. “Else we’d not be waking at all.”

“The… others?” Bilbo asked softly, and Thorin stamped down firmly on the panic bubbling up inside him.

“I don’t know,” he whispered, and the hobbit gripped his hand.

“Come on,” the king said briskly, blinking rapidly and getting to his feet. “We won’t do them any good stuck down there.”

Bilbo got up as well, wincing as he flexed his arm. They walked slowly towards the light, and Thorin knelt when he noticed a gleam half buried in the sand. It was _Orcrist_. He washed the elven blade off in the river and wiped it dry on his coat before sheathing it. Bilbo had managed to hold onto _Sting_ during their fall.

As they got closer to the light it became apparent that there would be no exit from the cave in that direction. Long before the cave opening the river had worn the cavern walls smooth and steep, and the speed of the current made swimming out an impossibility. 

“Let me see your arm while we have the light,” Thorin asked, humming sympathetically when Bilbo showed him the ragged gash.

“I don’t have anything to clean it out with,” he said, “The best I can do is bind it closed; we’ll have to trust to luck in regards to infection.”

“Just as long as I don’t have to look at it,” Bilbo muttered queasily.

Thorin snorted, tearing a strip off the bottom of his undershirt.

“You’re happy to fight goblins and throw daggers at trolls, but you don’t want to look at a tiny scratch?” he teased as he bound the wound.

“Tiny scratch,” the hobbit grumbled, looking over Thorin’s shoulder. “We’re going to have to go into those tunnels, aren’t we?”

Thorin met his eyes.

“Yes.”

“Brilliant,” Bilbo sighed unhappily.

“Don’t worry, Master Hobbit,” the dwarf said, “Durin’s folk do not easily lose their way underground. I will find the way out.”

Bilbo nodded, and Thorin led the way over and into one of the tunnels. 

He kept one hand on the rough stone wall, feeling the subtle changes in the rock and the slight differences in the musty air. Within a dozen steps the darkness was absolute.

“Thorin?” asked Bilbo nervously, and the king heard a thinly veiled thread of panic in the hobbit’s voice.

“Here,” he said, holding out a hand towards the halfling.

The hobbit shuffled over until he reached the dwarf, and Thorin grasped his hand tightly. Bilbo breathed a sigh of relief, and they continued deeper into the mountain hand in hand.

Before too long they reached the first fork in the path, and Thorin spent a moment running a calloused palm over the stone and inhaling the air before choosing a passageway. They continued on in the same fashion for what felt like hours on end, Thorin always choosing the path that felt less stale. The darkness was absolute.

Eventually the king halted, listening to Bilbo yawn in exhaustion. 

“We’ll stop here,” he said softly, and the hobbit hummed gratefully. 

He sat down with his back against the tunnel wall, and Bilbo fumbled his way over to slide down next to him, their shoulders pressed together. 

“Take your sword out,” the king murmured, “The light will give us warning if the goblins approach.”

“That’s an excellent thought to fall asleep to,” Bilbo slurred sleepily, but he did as Thorin asked, laying the sword across his lap.

The hobbit was fast asleep within minutes, his head dropping to rest on Thorin’s shoulder. There was a spur of rock digging uncomfortably into his back, but the king was loathe to move and wake his companion. 

Thorin felt bruised and battered. _I have only made things worse._

For the first time since the fall he allowed himself to think about the fate of the rest of the company. In his pride he had never considered that his quest to save Fíli and Kíli and restore his own honour might cost the lives of others he cared for. _Nothing has changed. I am still blinded by arrogance._

The king fully intended to keep watch, but his exhaustion and fear for his kin caught up to him, and he fell to fitful rest.

He dreamt of that fateful day on Ravenhill.

He sent his nephews to scout the towers. The ice creaked deeply, the wind howled. He ran through the ruined corridors slowly, as if the air was thick as syrup. _Not again. Please, not again._

The nightmare grew.

Azog stalked the princes. His taunts and snarls echoed harshly from every direction. Thorin clawed at the air, barely able to move. 

He rounded a corner. The Pale Orc stood before him, bathed in blood.

At the monster’s feet Thorin’s sister-sons lay. Scarlet ribbons splattered across their bodies, and the king stared down at their wide, blank, staring eyes.

“FÍLI! KÍLI! NO!” 

Thorin woke yelling and thrashing.

“Thorin!” Bilbo cried, and the king felt the hobbit’s hands grip his shoulders in the blackness, steadying him as he breathed harshly.

The dwarf went limp, lying his head back against the tunnel wall.

“My apologies,” he said wearily, “just… just a nightmare.”

“They’re ok Thorin,” the halfling said with certainty, sliding a palm up to the king’s neck and rubbing soothing circles with his thumb.

Thorin relaxed into the touch, and willed himself to believe the hobbit’s words. They stayed like that for several minutes, and the king’s thudding heart rate slowly began to steady as he relaxed.

“Come on,” Bilbo said, letting go and getting to his feet. “We need to keep going.”

The dwarf let out a disgruntled noise as the hobbit moved away, but followed him to his feet. He fumbled in the dark to take the halfling’s hand and set out again, stamping down his worries for the company and returning the squeeze Bilbo gave his palm.

The hobbit spoke softly to him as they walked, telling him of the rolling hills and little streams of the Shire. Thorin tuned out everything but the halfling’s voice and the sense of the stone, using the hobbit’s quiet chatter as an anchor against his fears and doubts. Bilbo’s voice never wavered, and despite his fatigue, despite his dread, despite his guilt and shame and regret, Thorin allowed himself to hope. _Maybe I can do this._

He noticed that he could make out the faint outline of Bilbo’s form. Bilbo’s voice trailed off as he noticed the light as well, and as they continued on it increased steadily. Before long they could see the edges of the tunnel and each other’s faces clearly. Despite the light Thorin made no move to let go of Bilbo’s hand. The hobbit didn’t mention it.

“What’s that?” Bilbo asked curiously.

He knelt to pick up a small object that was gleaming yellow in the dim light.

“What is it?” Thorin asked.

For some reason his own voice sounded faint, like he was hearing it from a great distance away. The scrapes and bruises he’d acquired on his tumble down the mountain side tingled and stung unpleasantly. He turned to look as Bilbo straightened again, and his movement felt lethargic, heavy.

“It’s a ring,” came the hobbit’s puzzled reply, and he held it up for Thorin to see.

Thorin froze. The little golden circle glinted. 

Bilbo asked him another question, but he couldn’t make out the words over the low whispering in his ears. A familiar tune wound sweetly through his mind, undercut with new, deeper and harsher notes. His pulse thrummed. He took a half step forward and Bilbo leant back, confused.

 _Such beauty…_

“Thorin?” the hobbit asked uncertainly.

A sudden memory cut through the haunting melody; _Bilbo’s eyes wide with fear and disbelief, the tip of Thorin’s blade pressed lightly against the hobbit’s chest._

Thorin reeled back as if struck. The dwarf staggered backwards to collapse against the cavern wall, covering his face with a shaking hand.

“Put it away!” he grated out harshly, breathing as if he had run for miles. _It almost happened again! Over one little piece of jewellery!_

Bilbo slipped the ring into his pocket, bewildered. 

“Thorin, what happened?!” he asked, crossing the passageway to lay a hand on the king’s arm.

Thorin flinched at his touch, shame flooding him as he lowered his hand and met the hobbit’s eyes. Bilbo’s face was a picture of concern, eyes crinkled and brow drawn up in worry. The king felt a last knot of pride melt away. _I have to tell him._

“There is… a weakness in my bloodline,” he started hesitantly. _He deserves to know what I am._

“Weakness?” Bilbo encouraged, tilting his head to one side and rubbing the dwarf’s arm.

“Dragon sickness,” he blurted, the words causing him almost physical pain. “It… drove my grandfather mad.” 

The hobbit stared down at him, and Thorin focused on his face.

“It is… a great love of treasure… a… terrible need. It consumes all else.”

“The troll horde?” asked Bilbo with dawning understanding.

Thorin nodded. He felt raw, defeated.

“I cannot… I cannot control my actions.”

“But you have so far!” Bilbo said, smiling encouragingly. “Does anyone else know?”

Thorin shook his head. 

“Hey, hey,” the halfling reached up to cup the dwarf’s jaw. 

Small, gentle fingers rested lightly under his chin, brushing the edge of coarse, dark hair.

“Don’t worry your royal head, Thorin Oakenshield, I’ll make sure you don’t lose yourself.”

The hobbit smiled sweetly at him, grey-green eyes meeting his fondly, confidently. Thorin felt a crashing realisation. He gaped up at Bilbo, feeling as though he’d been pole axed between the eyes.

 _Oh Mahal,_ he thought, _I’m in love with him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good on you Thorin, you finally-not-oblivious dork!
> 
> What's that? Ham-handed sparring scene clearly only inserted to get Thorin stripped down and sweaty? Sorry, can't hear you, too busy drooling. As is Bilbo.
> 
> On a more serious note, I've read plenty of fics where the dwarves have night-vision, but I couldn't find anywhere where it's mentioned in canon? I found one reference that theorised that their ability to navigate underground is more a matter of keeping their heads and experience rather than supernatural level abilities. I liked that idea and ran with it for this story.
> 
> Only one chapter to go after this one, then unfortunately there will be a break while I polish off the second part.
> 
> I hope everyone is enjoying the fic so far! Thank you so much for the kudos and comments, they make me smile and give me the motivation to keep writing.
> 
> \- Lady Z


	5. Chapter 5

Luckily Bilbo seemed to take Thorin’s inability to form coherent sentences as a side effect of the dragon sickness. He pulled the king gently to his feet and led him down the tunnel by the hand, resuming his talk of his homeland.

Thorin’s mind whirled. _How long?_ he thought, dazed. _Since the battle? Since he faced down Azog? Earlier?_ Bilbo chattered on, blissfully unaware of the dwarf’s thoughts. The hobbit’s hand felt soft, wrapped around his calloused digits, and Thorin swallowed thickly.

He shook his head in an attempt to clear it. _Now is not the time,_ he chided himself crossly. He squeezed Bilbo’s hand, nodded to him in silent thanks, and took the lead again. The hobbit beamed up at him encouragingly. _I’m a fool,_ he thought as his heart stuttered and resumed beating frantically in response to Bilbo’s smile.

The two of them stilled suddenly as they heard a splashing noise from up ahead. Bilbo slowly slid _Sting_ a couple of inches from its scabbard, but the blade was dark. They exchanged puzzled glances, and Thorin put a finger to his lips before creeping forward.

A dull, wet, thwapping noise sounded rhythmically, getting louder as they got closer, and they could hear water lapping gently against a shore. There was more than enough light, reflected from somewhere, for Thorin to see that Bilbo’s face was nervous, yet determined.

A thin, rasping voice drifted out to them.

“ _Rock and pool, is nice and cool,_

_So juicy sweet!_

_Our only wish, to catch a fish,_

_So juicy sweet!”_

Thorin and Bilbo reached an entrance to a cavern, where dull blue light filtered down from some fissure in the cave roof far overhead. Jagged rocks jutted up from a still, deep pool of dark water. Perched on the highest rock, in the middle of the pond was a twisted, foul creature. Thorin curled his lip in disgust. The thing had pale, filthy flesh and bulbous eyes that glowed dimly like lamp lights. It was ripping apart a fish with its teeth, juice dribbling down its chin while it chuckled darkly to itself.

The king motioned silently to the hobbit, and they snuck into the cavern, stepping carefully to avoid the gnawed looking bones scattered over the rocks. They edged around the black pool, listening to the steady drip, drip, drip of water falling from somewhere unseen. They lost sight of the pool and the hunched back of the creature behind a large, spiked rock foundation as they slowly stole across the cave.

The edge of Thorin’s boot splashed faintly in a small puddle of water. He froze, looking back at Bilbo apologetically. They listened intently for any noise, but there was only oppressive silence.

The king breathed a silent sigh of relief, relaxing slightly and turning forwards again.

A snarling, gurgling cry exploded from above them. Thorin spun, heart racketing. The creature launched itself over the rock at Bilbo in a blur of pale flesh. 

Thorin cried out in shock, drawing _Orcrist._ The hobbit and the _thing_ were too entangled for him to strike. Their limbs flew frantically as they struggled. _No, no, no!_ The litany repeated over and over again, and the wave of fear that swamped him was ferociously overwhelming. 

The creature knocked the hobbit’s head against the ground sickeningly with a CRUNCH. It spun him around, pinning his arms with one pale, long fingered hand while the other gripped his throat. Huge pale eyes raised slowly to stare at Thorin. He stood immobilised by dread. _Orcrist’s_ tip quivered.

“Bless us and splash us, precious!” the thing exclaimed, glancing down at Bilbo, “That’s a meaty mouthful!” 

“Release him!” Thorin snarled, hoping his terror wasn’t apparent in his voice. “Or I will part your foul head from your shoulders!”

“Gollum! Gollum!” it coughed wetly. “It’s a dwarfses, precious, with an elvish blade!” 

“Don’t worry, my sweet,” the creature answered itself, “if the dwarfses comes any closer, we will wring this one’s little neck.”

The king let out a strangled cry, and the creature grinned horribly. The whirling panic was like nothing he’d ever felt. _I cannot lose him. Not now._

“What is it, precious?” the monster asked itself, “not another dwarfses?”

“I am a hobbit,” Bilbo wheezed weakly, and Thorin felt a wave of relief.

“Hobbitses!” the creature repeated, “We’ve never had hobbitses before! Is it soft? It is juicy?”

The hand on Bilbo’s throat tightened, and Thorin took a step forward, raising his sword threateningly. Rage erupted within him.

“Touch him, filth, and you will regret it!” he spat. 

The monster shifted, eyeing him angrily and pushing Bilbo’s head uncomfortably into the rock. The hobbit squirmed in the creature’s iron grip, causing it to hiss at him wetly. He fumbled clumsily at his side and Thorin’s heart leapt into his throat as the fiend raised a fist in the air to strike.

Then miraculously, Bilbo disappeared. 

Thorin and the creature cried out, the dwarf in shock and the thing in outrage. There was a sharp thud and something unseen impacted the monster’s face, knocking it backwards.

“Bilbo?!” Thorin screamed, searching frantically.

“Thorin?” came the hobbit’s puzzled reply.

The creature whirled and spun about, yelling and grasping at the air in a mad fury.

“Quick!” said Bilbo’s voice from right next to his shoulder, and he felt the hobbit’s hand grasp his and tug him towards an exit.

He ran, struggling to keep up with the situation.

“Bilbo… you’re… I can’t see you?!” he gasped as they flew into one of the tunnels.

“What?” the hobbit’s voice queried breathlessly, as the creature’s shrieks rose to a fevered pitch.

“THEEIIIVVESSS!!!!” it screamed “THEY STOOLLEEE IITTT!!!!”

Bilbo was suddenly visible again mid-stride as they ran, the golden ring clutched in his fingers. Thorin missed a step, but the halfling caught him before he could fall, and they sprinted through the rocks.

“This way!” the king cried, feeling a burst of fresh air from a side passage. 

They could hear the flapping of the creature’s footsteps as it raced after them. Sunlight was streaming around the corner up ahead, and with a last burst of speed they rounded the bend and tumbled out into daylight. When they rolled to a halt Thorin spun back to face the mountains, taking up a defensive stance in front of the hobbit, _Orcrist_ held ready. He waited, coiled muscles tense, for several long seconds, but there was no sign of pursuit.

“We must have lost him,” Bilbo panted.

Thorin relaxed slowly, nodding. He still felt a bit sick to the stomach; his fear for the hobbit had left a lingering queasiness.

“It was the ring,” Bilbo said excitedly, holding up the little golden circle. “It’s magic!”

“And a good thing too,” Thorin replied, remembering with a shudder the creature’s foul hands on the halfling’s neck. 

He turned his eyes away as his already twitchy stomach rolled.

“Just… best if you keep it away from me.”

Bilbo looked up apologetically, putting the ring back in his pocket.

“Oh, right! Er, sorry.”

Thorin examined their surroundings. They were on the eastern slopes of the mountains; somehow they had made it all the way through. The sun was at a low angle to the west, visible over the mountain peaks and covering the trees around them in golden light.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a section of grass that showed faint signs of being trampled recently. Slowly, he walked carefully over to examine the marks. Hope kindled dimly in his chest.

“Bilbo…” he said carefully, glancing further down the slope to where another patch of earth had been disturbed.

“What is it?” the hobbit enquired, stepping up behind him.

“I think…” he swallowed, unwilling to trust the positive feeling. “I think the company has been through here.”

Bilbo gaped at him, and broke into a grin.

“See there,” Thorin gestured, and the hobbit knelt beside him. “That’s… I _think_ that’s Fíli’s boot print. I recognise the pattern.” 

Bilbo looked up, eyes shining.

“Come on then, let’s go and find them!”

Thorin stood up, feeling strangely hesitant. _It is too much to hope they are all alright. One of them will be harmed, or worse._

They made their way down the hill. Bilbo tried to forge ahead impatiently, but Thorin dragged his feet under the guise of checking the trail. _Please,_ he thought to himself, _please let them be unharmed._

As if in answer, a familiar voice called out from below them.

“We must go back NOW!” Kíli cried, “They could still be alive!”

Thorin stopped. He closed his eyes briefly, then hurried forward till he could see the company scattered in a lose group on the hillside. Relief swamped him; all twelve dwarves, plus the wizard, were present. _They are_ alive _._

“Lad, the chances of them surviving that fall…” Balin answered Thorin’s nephew, his voice tight with grief.

“We don’t care!” Fíli snarled, “Uncle would turn back for any of us.”

Balin closed his eyes, a tear running down his wrinkled face, and nodded. The rest of the company wore expressions crumpled in shock or grief. Gandalf leant heavily on his staff, bent over it with his eyes closed and his face etched in lines of regret.

Thorin glanced back at Bilbo, seeing his profound joy mirrored in the halfling’s face, and they rushed forward together.

“Come now my friends, surely you do not think we can be so easily bested?” asked Thorin as he and Bilbo strode through the trees. His heart felt ready to burst.

Thirteen faces spun towards them, mouths open in shock.

With a wild yell, Kíli launched himself across the distance to throw his arms around them both. Thorin laughed merrily while Bilbo squeaked, and there was a thud as Fíli’s weight hit them in his own bear hug. They toppled into the leaves, and for several minutes the company crowded together in a pile of hugs, back slaps, laughter and tears. 

Dwalin leant his forehead against Thorin’s and murmured, “< _Good to have you back, brother. >”_

“How in Durin’s name did you survive?” Balin asked, blinking and peering through his tears.

Bofur had Bilbo in a head lock, ruffling his hair while the hobbit struggled.

“No small amount of luck, my friend, and with a great deal of help from Bilbo,” the king replied, stifling a flash of jealousy. 

He quickly sketched out a brief outline of their journey, leaving out his crushing realisation in regards to his feelings for the hobbit, as well as the discovery of the ring and the battle with dragon sickness. Bilbo glanced at him curiously but made no comment.

“What of you?” Thorin asked, “How did you escape the goblins on the ledge?”

“We didn’t,” Dwalin grunted, and the company told the tale of their capture, which had gone much as it had on Thorin’s first journey, complete with a timely rescue by Gandalf.

Thorin glanced up at Bilbo, and the way the sunlight caught in his curls brought back a sudden memory of their first time gathering on the mountainside.

“ _I know you doubt me. I know you always have, and you’re right – I often think of Bag End. I miss my books, and my armchair and my garden. See that’s where I belong, that’s home. And that’s why I came back. Because… you don’t have one. A home. It was taken from you. But I will help you take it back if I can.”_

He had been unable to hold the halfling’s gaze, filled with shame and confusion, and underneath it all something deeper that he hadn’t been able to recognise. _That is when I fell for you, Master Burglar._

Bilbo tilted his head and raised his eyebrows quizzically, and Thorin realised, embarrassed, that he’d been staring for several moments. He snapped his eyes away, praying that the heat he felt in his cheeks wasn’t visible.

The sun had all but dropped below the line of the Misty Mountains, and the shadows had begun to lengthen. A small swirl of unease intruded on Thorin’s buoyant mood. He frowned, confused. Something about the sunset tickled at his memory. 

A long, low howl sounded from over the rise behind them.

The king’s heart plummeted.

 _No,_ he thought, and then aloud, “NO!”

_I have no plan for this yet!_

“Out of the frying pan, and into the fire! RUN!” shouted Gandalf.

Thorin felt his legs lurch, a strange sense of detachment overcoming him as they took off down the hill. _How? How did I forget?_

They hurtled over boulders and wove between trees, the snarls of the wargs gaining on them swiftly. One of the beasts leapt off a rock into his and Bilbo’s path, and launched itself at them with a feral growl. Bilbo stepped forward, placing his small body between the charging beast and the king. Before Thorin could do more than cry out in shock the monster had impaled itself on the hobbit’s blade.

He shook his head fiercely, stubbornly forcing himself back to reality.

A second warg threw itself at the company, and _Orcrist_ slid through its neck while Bifur’s hunting spear skewered it in the side. Dwalin’s war hammer and Bofur’s mattock ended the life of another.

“Up into the trees!” cried Gandalf, and Thorin helped Bilbo pull _Sting_ from the warg’s carcass before the company scrambled into the branches. Thorin watched the sky frantically as the wargs circled, snapping, but there was no sign of the eagles.

_I must stall for time._

Below him, a familiar pale figure on a white warg sauntered up to the trees.

Time seemed to stop.

“Azog!” he snarled, and he had not been prepared for the wave of fury that flooded him. _This_ filth _slew my grandfather, lost me my father, and killed my sister-sons._ He felt a shudder of rage go down his spine when the creature said his name.

The Pale Orc waved his mace and legion of wargs flowed forward. Their massive jaws snapped furiously at the branches, splinters flying and roots cracking as the beasts hurled their massive bodies at the trees again and again. One by one the trees began to topple with a horrendous, deafening cracking sound. The dwarves and Bilbo flung themselves from one tree to the next, until all fifteen of the company were huddled in the tree perched precariously on the edge of the cliff.

Azog laughed horribly, and then snarled in outrage as Gandalf threw a flaming pinecone down at the milling monsters. The wizard passed the burning cones out quickly, and the company hurled them down. They built up a fiery wall, and the wargs began to retreat, shrieking in pain. The dwarves cheered and laughed, but Thorin glared down at Azog, anger churning in his gut.

His friends cried out as the tree shuddered beneath them, tipping backwards into the open air, held tight by just a few straining roots. 

Thorin stood. 

Time skewed for him, flickering between past and present. He saw only the Pale Orc. One step forward, then two. He walked down the trunk, _Orcrist_ in hand. 

He broke into a loping run, heart thudding, focused on Azog’s foul smile. _Not this time. Never again. You have taken EVERYTHING from me!_

“Thorin!” Bilbo’s high, frightened voice rang out over the crackling fires.

He snapped back to himself with a painful jolt. 

The king threw himself to the side as the warg launched itself at him, tucking into a ball and rolling before wheeling around and slicing out as the beast rushed past. _Orcist_ bit into flesh, and the white warg let out a horrible, garbled screech. It faltered and fell, wet scarlet staining the gleaming white fur.

Azog roared in fury as he leapt clear, and charged, jagged teeth bared in a feral snarl. His mace connected with Thorin’s chest and the king was flung backwards, the breath knocked out of him and _Orcrist_ flying from his grasp. The Pale Orc placed a massive, booted foot on the king’s chest, pinning him painfully. 

“Prepare to die, Oakenshield,” Azog growled, eyes blazing with unwholesome fervour.

Thorin looked up at the orc. Despite everything, he smiled. 

“You are forgetting something, filth,” he spat.

The Pale Orc narrowed his eyes. Thorin saw a flicker of doubt at the dwarf’s certainty, hidden swiftly behind the rage.

“The sons of Durin do not fight alone,” Thorin said with a feral smile, and Bilbo crashed into the orc’s side. 

Azog roared in pain and anger as _Sting_ stabbed frantically, and Thorin grabbed _Orcrist_ and surged to his feet. The Defiler grabbed the hobbit by the neck and tossed him aside like a rag doll, black blood gushing. Bilbo rolled and bounced before flying into a rock with a horrible crunch.

The orc screeched at his brethren, and they stalked forward snarling as Thorin stepped in front of the hobbit. A series of familiar cries sounded in his ears, and Fíli and Kíli charged the pack from the side, blades flashing in the firelight.

“< _To Arms! >” _Thorin shouted, running forward to slice at a warg before it could launch itself at Bilbo.

Dwalin snarled wordlessly, fighting by his side, and Thorin risked a glance back. The Pale Orc was stalking towards the hobbit’s prone form, fury written on his features.

“NO!” he screamed, slashing frenziedly, trying to move closer. The roiling mass of orcs and wargs spilled forwards, blocking his path.

A familiar echoing screech caused his heart to leap into his throat. The eagles had joined the battle. 

One of the giant birds swooped low and took the hobbit gently in its talons, and Thorin felt a chill at the way the halfling rolled limply. Azog snarled in fury as his prey was carried away, the eagles’ wing beats fanning the fires and driving him back.

Thorin looked up to see an eagle heading straight for him, he barely had time to brace himself before he was lifted into the air. There was a moment of heart stopping terror as the bird dropped him onto the back of one of its fellows, and then they soared up and away, Azog’s roar echoing behind them.

***

The eagles took them as far as the Anduin River, setting them down one by one on a giant spire of rock. Gandalf rushed to Bilbo’s side as soon as his feet touched the rock. The halfling lay unnaturally still. Thorin felt despair grip him as his eagle circled the rock. _I have failed again._

The dwarves crowded around Bilbo and the wizard, but Thorin stood on the edge of the platform, dread thrumming through him. Gandalf passed a hand over Bilbo’s face, murmuring quietly under his breath. Bilbo’s eyes fluttered open.

“Thorin?” he asked, and the king’s heart restarted with a galloping beat.

Gandalf smiled, relief evident in his face.

“He is here, and unharmed, thanks to you,” the wizard said kindly as the hobbit got up with a wince.

He smiled sheepishly at Thorin as if he wasn’t quite sure of his welcome. 

The dwarf stared at him. The hobbit was battered and bruised. His hands were covered in black gore. _There are no words…_

The king started forward with a strangled groan, and for the second time in two lifetimes Thorin pulled Bilbo into his arms atop the Carrock. 

He leant back to smile down at the hobbit.

“Truly, this quest would be lost without you, Bilbo Baggins.”

 _I would be lost without you, many times over._ He moved a hand up to the halfling’s neck and pulled him forward so their foreheads rested together.

“You really are a most remarkable hobbit,” he murmured softly. 

He felt as if the whole wide world had shrunk down to just the two of them.

“Oh, I’m sure you would have managed,” the hobbit replied just as quietly.

The halfling leant back a fraction and tipped his head upwards ever so slightly. Thorin’s breath hitched. Bilbo’s eyelids fluttered half closed. His eyelashes were mesmerising. 

Thorin shifted his weight forward, heartbeat thundering -

And Kíli let out a whooping cheer.

Thorin pulled back, startled, and the rest of the world seemed to stutter back into being.

Kíli threw his arms around them both, laughing merrily. Bilbo blinked rapidly as if clearing his eyesight, and the other dwarves crowded forward. 

The king let go of Bilbo and stepped back to let them swamp the hobbit. Balin stood beside him as Dwalin picked the halfling up in a crushing hug, his feet dangling as he squawked indignantly and the burly warrior chuckled.

“That was interesting,” Balin said quietly, and Thorin’s stomach swooped uncomfortably.

He glanced at Balin out of the corner of his eye.

“What was?” he asked curtly, giving his voice a hint of a growl.

His advisor held up his hands in a pacifying gesture.

“I’m not saying anything, laddie,” Balin said with a grin.

Thorin scowled.

“Uncle, look,” came Fíli’s awed voice.

The king crossed to where the company stood staring at the horizon. Bilbo shifted to the side to make room for him, eyes shining in wonder.

“Is that… what I think it is?” he asked softly.

Thorin didn’t have a hope of stopping the broad smile that suffused his face. 

“Erebor,” said Gandalf. “The Lonely Mountain. The last of the great dwarf kingdoms of Middle Earth.”

“Our home,” Thorin said reverently, putting a hand on each of his nephews’ shoulders.

They turned to grin at him as a bird fluttered by. _This time we will_ all _see it returned to glory, my sister-sons._

“A raven!” exclaimed Óin. “The birds are returning to the mountain!”

“That, my dear Óin, is a thrush,” Gandalf corrected.

“But we’ll take it as a sign,” Thorin said warmly. “A good omen.”

He looked down at Bilbo, and as the hobbit met his gaze Thorin _believed._

“You’re right.”

Bilbo’s eyes were alight with hope.

“I do believe the worst is behind us.”

_I can do anything with you by my side._

They stood shoulder to shoulder, surrounded by their friends, and watched the Lonely Mountain until the sun slipped away below the Misty Mountains at last.

 _I may be a fool, but once, just this once, I will trust to hope._

_Just a fool’s hope._

***

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus ends the first part of The Twice Told Tale of Thorin Oakenshield.
> 
> My dear readers, you have all been exceedingly lovely! I'm a little overwhelmed that people are taking the time to read and comment, since I started this as a selfish way to deal with my BotFA grief.
> 
> I'm about halfway through the second part now, and it's my intention to wait until it's finished before I start uploading chapters. In the mean time I'll be over on tumblr (theladyzephyr.tumblr.com) so feel free to shoot me an ask about anything Tolkien or writing related. 
> 
> Thanks for the love guys!
> 
> \- Lady Z

**Author's Note:**

> I can now be found on tumblr at theladyzephyr.tumblr.com where I will be musing about the Hobbit and writing in general; feel free to come say hi and laugh at my complete lack of understanding of the way tumblr works.


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